172 LIFE IN IRELAND 



The surgeon, who is always a prime fellow on all 

 gallant occasions, gave, 



Delicate pleasures to susceptible minds. 



Thus every one drank what he best liked, so when 

 it came to the Midshipman's turn, who (being only 

 invited) is always the last, with a thundering voice he 

 uttered, 



'A bloody war and a sickly season,' 



a toast which was bumpered with avidity, by all abaft 

 the capster7i. The true meaning of the toast may not 

 be known to a Ia7id hibber, and as one of our heroes is 

 now a salt cod, we are bound to explain all that con- 

 cerns him. 



A Midship7na7i looks for a Lieutenant's death, with 

 as much anxiety and pleasure, as ever Buonaparte 

 anticipated the disgrace of Moreau, — he expects to 

 succeed to the vacancy. A bloody war may carry off 

 the luff; a sickly season, gorged with the Spanish 

 pestilence, or yellow fever, may, perchance, serve him 

 the same sauce, and the middy never thinks that he 

 also may make one in death's journal, for he deems 

 himself unworthy of death's notice, because he does 

 not hold a commission, and would not be noticed by 

 name in the court dead list (gazette) if he dies. 



Brian and Sally were accommodated with a snug 

 cot in the after gun-room ; to be sure it was rather of 

 grave di?nensions (five feet by two), or like a workhouse 

 coffin, always made of the same length, and if a dead 

 fellow is not ft-able, his head and feet are chopped off 

 and placed upon his armpits. You must lay, said the 



